


soft like petals

by orphan_account



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 08:57:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4781447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which taekwoon is hongbin's bodyguard and they f*ck a lot. (porn with (5%) plot)</p>
            </blockquote>





	soft like petals

**Author's Note:**

> so, i've been reading a whole lot of yaoi lately and have recently learned of yoneda kou and her wonderful work. this is heavily inspired by saezuru tori wa habatakanai.

_**It had all started because Wonsik**  had never been able to hold his liquor. In the three years Taekwoon had been working for him, there had never been a weekend night he hadn’t come home smelling of cigar smoke and spilled whiskey; shouldering Wonsik into the back of the limo where he’d either puke on the floorboards or fall asleep with his head in Taekwoon’s lap. As his guardian, Taekwoon would simply card fingers through Wonsik’s sweat matted air, and push away the negative thoughts liquor always brought to a head. He’d carry Wonsik up to his room—the penthouse suite—not an easily accomplished feat, but one Taekwoon had been familiar with: Wonsik, dead weight on his back with his face nestled into the nape of Taekwoon’s neck. He’d wake the following morning as if nothing had happen, and there on the bedside table would be his ginger ale, his seltzer; there would be a handful of pills and an unopened pack of smokes, all the things Wonsik needed for a hangover._

_Wonsik was a handful, but not one too heavy for Taekwoon to carry; until, of course, that night in The Red Dragon._

_He’d lost a hand of blackjack to a man that went by the name of Representative Lee. He was an aged man who’d worn a double breasted Louis Vuitton suit in navy blue, and it had seemed even under sallow light the cuffs of his shirt glowed with refinement._

_Wonsik had been low on chips, and out of sense; drunkenly placing the rest of his weekly allowance—money being the one thing his father had control over—on the green felt table, he’d promised the Representative that if he won he could not only have the rest of his money, but his bodyguard too. But if Wonsik were to win: he’d get all of his savings back._

_Taekwoon had been scared shitless, had watched with dizzying discomfort lodged tightly in the back of his head; and gripping the back of Wonsik’s chair to keep from toppling over, he’d nearly whined when the cards were flipped, because Wonsik’s hand was a good hand, but not one good enough. He’d lost by a single point._

_Everything from that point on had been what dreamers call an out of body experience._

_Taekwoon could see the table, and the men; he saw Wonsik with his mouth parted and eyes deadened to pits of black tar. He saw himself standing with white knuckles and growing despair engulfing his stomach in a wave of white hot heat. Then: Representative Lee, standing before him with a card between his long, slender fingers. He’d asked if Taekwoon could start in the morning; and waiting for a reply—one that took Taekwoon nearly five minutes to say—he’d left under a veil of white light that Taekwoon still isn’t sure was real or not. He’d looked like a dove, bright against a charcoal sky, fluttering away like a bad omen, like misery._

_When Taekwoon ripped Wonsik out of his seat it had felt like wading water: arms heavy, and all the earth’s atmosphere pressing down on him. A tangle of limbs and Wonsik’s drunken apologies; in the back of the theater, in a bathroom that looked as if it belonged in a gentlemen’s club (a couch by the western wall, doors on the stalls; even a carpeted room with walls made of mirrored glass) Taekwoon had been pained to realize that he was frightened, but of what he wasn’t sure._

_‘You **fuck** —’_

_Wonsik babbling, crying, clutching the collar of his own suit: ‘I’m sorry— I didn’t think—’_

_‘You didn’t think,’ Taekwoon said spitefully; and there: a flicker of hurt in Wonsik’s glazed eyes. He’d let him go then, left the theater then, sat on the curb with anger in his blood and a cigarette in his mouth. Wonsik hadn’t come to sit beside him for almost twenty minutes._

_'I’m sorry, hyung.’ He’d been considerably more sober._

_'Who’s gonna take care of you now?’ Taekwoon asked, though it had been the last thing on his mind. And when Wonsik had muttered a gentle, 'Finding a new bodyguard won’t be that hard, hyung, you know that,’ he’d hung his head and let defeat wash over him._

 

 

 

 **It’s been nine months**  since Wonsik traded Taekwoon for a handful of nothing, and though Taekwoon doesn’t go home smelling like wood chips and expensive liquor anymore, he does occasionally see Wonsik at the bars, at night clubs; no longer under the veil of responsibility, he’s able to joke about the night at The Red Dragon. And though he’d never admit it, because Taekwoon hates to prove anything good can come from a bad decision, it seems sometimes as though Wonsik had gifted him something priceless. Because even on the nights Taekwoon’s burdened by picking up broken bits of glass from a shattered wine bottle, or crawling on hands and knees to find spilled prescription pills beneath the bed, he’s never once regretted his new life, or the boy he’s been employed to protect.

 

 

 

 **He’s wearing a grey cardigan**  that hangs like a sheet from broad shoulders; it’s long enough to reach the middle of his bare thighs, to be worn as a robe, which is how Hongbin’s wearing it now: held together in the middle by tired, trembling fingers.

He collapses on the bed with a hand over his eyes and his bare toes wiggling. He asks if Taekwoon can get him a Tylenol.

Hongbin’s hungover in a way that Wonsik never was: pains in his head, in his arms; he calls them stress-aches, and they always seem to blossom the most right after a meeting, when the weight of his father’s company looms too close to his shoulders.

Taekwoon gives Hongbin the small orange pill and a bottle of mineral water to wash it down with. He asks if he’s alright, to which Hongbin snaps—though only mildly annoyed: 'I thought I asked you to stopped calling me sir.’

Heat flooding his face, Taekwoon bows his head. 'Sorry.’

And with a sigh Hongbin sits up, adjusts the cardigan so it won’t fall open. 'Taekwoon-nim,’ already his tone is kindly, 'I just want you to stop using that term. I don’t like it. It— It makes me feel  _old_.’

Taekwoon wants to point out that Hongbin is, in fact, twenty-five and though he isn’t old, he’s mature; and to Taekwoon,  _sir_  is the most respectful name he could call him. But he nods instead as if he understands Hongbin’s distaste to the word, and sits on the floor by the foot of the bed with his legs folded beneath himself.

Hongbin’s watching him with the mineral water balanced between his hand and his thigh; sharp eyes that glimmer daringly. He lifts one leg and crosses it over the other, bare foot angled almost directly in front of Taekwoon’s face. He whispers softly, 'Do that thing I like.’

Steadily, because it’s been a long time since the first time he’s ever touched Hongbin this way, Taekwoon takes Hongbin’s foot into his hands. Feather-light touch that sends shivers up Hongbin’s leg; he’s trembling even before Taekwoon caresses the lightly pink soles of his feet.

'Don’t be scared,’ Hongbin whispers quietly, 'to go a little harder this time. It tickles too much when you’re gentle.’ His last words fade into a whispered moan as Taekwoon presses his thumbs hard into his feet; foot seemingly small between large hands. Taekwoon’s head goes light as Hongbin sighs and falls back on the bed. The mineral water he’d been holding is no longer in his hand, and though Taekwoon wants to believe it’s somewhere on the bedside table, he knows Hongbin well enough to know it’s probably on the floor, dropped there and tipped over, because Hongbin simply doesn’t care.

'Like this?’ Taekwoon breathes quietly.

'Like that,’ Hongbin tells him.

His skin is petal soft, delicate beneath Taekwoon’s calloused fingers; gently lined with the blue web of veins, of fluttering tendons as if under strain. Taekwoon’s hands glide up the back of Hongbin’s calf where hard muscle trembles just below his skin, and with Hongbin’s foot hooked over his shoulder, Taekwoon turns his head, and places a single kiss to the inside of his leg. He can feel Hongbin watching him, eyes narrowed but tender still, as if wondering what Taekwoon will do next.

He refuses to make eye contact for fear of his face giving away just how deeply he’s affected by Hongbin’s skin against his own; and with one hand still kneading the tight muscles of Hongbin’s calf, Taekwoon lifts Hongbin’s foot from his shoulder, and mouths at the sharp angle of his ankle. The bone is hard against his teeth as he nibbles there, lips parted and panting softly, Taekwoon feels the shift of Hongbin’s body, can only imagine the way he looks now: back arched off the bed with all his bones visible. He wonders if the cardigan has fallen open, if Hongbin’s allowed his chest to be exposed, and he wants to look but can’t just yet because his head is swimming and his palms have began to sweat.

Taekwoon’s reminded of the foot he’s neglected as Hongbin tries to wind his forgotten leg around the small of Taekwoon’s back; and it’s as he’s setting one foot down to lift the other to his mouth that Taekwoon’s eyes flutter open, and there on the bed with his knees apart and a hand down the front of his briefs is Hongbin; and his neck is arched back beautifully, his mouth parted open.

It’s a moment before Taekwoon remembers what he’s doing, and upon remembering, is painfully aware of the swarming flutters in the pit of his stomach. He kisses the bottom of Hongbin’s foot, delicate soles that bleed white as Taekwoon’s fingers press into the skin. Hongbin’s breath hitches loudly, his legs start to quiver; his cock is still in his underwear, but there’s come wetting his fingers as he removes his hand from between his legs, and lets his thighs fall further apart.

Taekwoon manages to ask, though his voice is faint and hardly kept together, 'Why did you stop?’

Hongbin chews the inside of his cheek; his hips roll up against an invisible weight. 'I want you to touch me,’ he says, and digs his fingers into the fleshy inside of his own thigh.

Taekwoon’s arms tremble beneath his weight as he crawls from his knees onto the bed. He lies on his stomach between Hongbin’s legs and presses his cheek to the cool flesh of Hongbin’s thigh; he can’t tell if Hongbin is cold, or if he is hot. Blood like raging wind inside his veins, rushing inside his head, inside his heart; the pounding of his own pulse deep within his ears. Taekwoon, not wanting to rise from where he lies, hooks a finger into the front of Hongbin’s underwear, and pushes it to the side. He’s grateful when his hand is covered by Hongbin’s own, when Hongbin widens his legs and helps Taekwoon work his cock free.

Sultry rumble of Hongbin’s deep voice, purring the one word that sends shivers up Taekwoon’s spine.  _Hyung-nim_. He grabs his cock and guides it to Taekwoon’s open mouth.

The bitter taste of come on his bottom lip; Taekwoon traces the course of veins along the underside of Hongbin’s cock, feels his thigh flex beneath his cheek. And as he shifts closer, taking Hongbin fully into his mouth, he melts forward under the weight of Hongbin’s fingers in his hair.

The world spins then; all of Taekwoon dizzy, almost uncomfortably so, as Hongbin, with his cock still in Taekwoon’s mouth, pushes Taekwoon onto his back. Hongbin has a knee on either side of his head, his hands braced to the large, ash wood headboard just above Taekwoon’s head; and he’s grinding his hips forward, pushing his cock deeper into Taekwoon’s mouth until it’s all he can taste. It’s an effort to breathe when his face is smothered in the firm front of Hongbin’s stomach, but his fingers are curled into the thick muscle in the backs of Hongbin’s thighs, and he’s urging him forward, to rock his hips against his mouth, to fuck his face.

The telephone rings but neither of them startle. Hongbin stills above Taekwoon’s head, probably debating whether he should answer it or not—it’s the work telephone after all—and after what feels like a very long time, Hongbin reaches for the handset on the nightstand. There’s the deep, professional grumble of Hongbin’s work voice, one he only uses when his employees call, and he’s asking what it is that’s needed of him, sighing exasperatedly as he hears something he must not want to.

Taekwoon doesn’t like when Hongbin’s annoyed, it’s when he grows ruthless, a little reckless, and his cock is growing soft between Taekwoon’s pallet and tongue; he dislikes this almost just as much. So he hollows his cheeks, and sucks hard enough to pull a gasp from Hongbin’s barely parted mouth. He’s been doing this long enough to know he won’t be scolded, that when Hongbin’s hips shift lightly against him there’s a large possibility that his head is also tipped back, the sharp lines of his face, the pale column of his neck, all of it: exposed and beautiful and needing to be touched. Taekwoon thinks of this as he pulls Hongbin’s cock further into his mouth, as he helps Hongbin ride his face because Hongbin can’t do it himself with only one hand on the headboard and the other holding the telephone.

'Fine,’ Hongbin says lowly to the receiver. 'Don’t let it take longer than it needs to—’ and he hangs up so suddenly Taekwoon isn’t sure if the conversation was really over, but it doesn’t matter because Hongbin’s pulling the hair at the top of Taekwoon’s head, and he’s worked his cock so deeply into Taekwoon’s mouth he’d have choked had he not, by now, improved his reflexes.

There have been a lot of nights like this one, some so fueled by Hongbin’s need to get off that he’ll pin Taekwoon’s hands beneath his own, fuck his mouth until Taekwoon’s squirming under his weight, desperate for air. So Taekwoon knows what’s to come when Hongbin shudders against him; thighs trembling and pressed hard over Taekwoon’s ears. He says something Taekwoon can’t hear, but a second later and the warm spurt of Hongbin’s come coats the very back of Taekwoon’s throat. He gags it down as he always does, and wraps both arms tightly about the small of Hongbin’s back. It’s as Hongbin’s trying to wriggle away that Taekwoon, jaw aching, hugs him to his face.

'Taekwoon,’ he’s giggling softly. 'We have to go. I need to sign a few papers.’ But he allows Taekwoon to flip him on his back, to nuzzle his face deeply against his stomach until Hongbin’s laughing so hard all his muscles are flexed.

'I’ll get your clothes,’ Taekwoon says. And he’s on the other side of the bedroom, head poked into the closet when Hongbin says, 'I wish I could touch you.’ Taekwoon pauses for a moment, then pretends to not have heard.

 

 

 

_**He’d been working for Hongbin**  exactly one month the first time Hongbin asked Taekwoon to come to bed with him. He’d kept his hands to himself, but asked, rather desperately, for Taekwoon to put his arms around him, to hold him until he fell asleep; and Taekwoon had done just that. He’d buried his nose into the feather soft and freshly washed mess of Hongbin’s raven hair. He had smelled of pomegranate seeds and something much sweeter; his bare skin tender beneath Taekwoon’s too hot palms. And though nothing like this had ever been asked of him in the seven years and the three men he’d been employed to protect, Taekwoon had done it because Hongbin was gentle in ways he’d never seen before; transparent eyes like open windows, he’d hide behind Taekwoon when asked too many questions, would cry in rage when he’d failed an assignment. To hold him as he slept had been one of the few parts of Taekwoon’s job that had made sense to him utterly. So he’d done it without hesitation, had pulled Hongbin’s broad, but small boned, frame to his chest every night thereafter. Taekwoon had never anticipated Hongbin to turn over in his arms one night, to nuzzle his face into the underside of Taekwoon’s chin. He’d put his hand down the front of Taekwoon’s pants, between his legs; fingers nimble and gently shaking as soft skin touched Taekwoon’s own._

_If he allowed himself to remember, Taekwoon could see with vivid perfection: the glaring hurt in Hongbin’s eyes when his body hadn’t responded. How he’d taken his hand away as if burned, face aflame with blood boiling in his cheeks. He’d pushed Taekwoon from his bed, lying hopeless with his head beneath a pillow, and there he stayed no matter how many times Taekwoon begged him to stop crying._

_'It isn’t your fault,’ he’d said softly. He’d touched Hongbin’s trembling shoulder and told him, 'It isn’t that I don’t want you. I just can’t.’ And Hongbin peered up with only half his face uncovered. 'I’ve never been able to.’_

_For two months Hongbin had experimented. Taekwoon would wake with hands up the front of his shirt and a mouth kissing his collarbones. Hongbin, biting his nipples as he pulled Taekwoon’s hair. He’d play with himself on full display, thighs trembling and strangled cries falling from a mouth bitten raw. Porn videos and nude magazines, always watching Taekwoon’s reaction with a hand ready to touch him between his legs, to see if he’d react at all._

_'Your face is red,’ he’d said one evening._

_'You’re breathing heavily,’ he’d said another._

_'There’s sweat on your neck.’_

_'Your hands are shaking.’_

_And Taekwoon, burning on the inside, could never find the right words to explain that though his cock couldn’t get hard, didn’t mean he never felt desire; that when Hongbin crawled naked into bed with his fingers wet with his own spit, touching himself and only allowing Taekwoon to watch, his stomach would hurt with a release he couldn’t reach; and the tingle of an orgasm in the soles of his feet; face hot and only getting hotter as Hongbin would finger himself until he came, Taekwoon’s name always the first thing out of his mouth._

_Hongbin began to understand, after weeks of torment, that when Taekwoon gasped breathlessly with cold sweat on his nape and fingers bled white that this was how he came; not with come between his thighs but with sweat on his forehead and a heart beating rapidly as if it might stop at any moment._

_Everything was easier after this._

 

 

 

 **They’ve been home for**  over two hours and Hongbin, curled on his side in the middle of the bed, hasn’t moved in all this time. Taekwoon had first thought he’d been asleep, but every now and again he’ll make an annoyed little sound not unlike a sigh, and turn on his back, stare at the ceiling. He’ll wait a moment before flopping back over onto his side where he’ll simply stare at the alarm clock and the bright blue digital numbers printed on its face.

Taekwoon is in an armchair that had once been kept in the corner of the room but is now placed to sit directly by the bed side. In his hands: a copy of GQ with the pages flipped open to Ralph Lauren’s new tie collection. He’s drumming his fingers on a page showing a navy blue, slim fit tie, miniature paper planes printed all across the tie’s front, and though unusual and probably unprofessional, he’s tempted to buy it.

'Hongbin-ah.’

'Hm.’

'What do you think of this?’ He turns the magazine to face Hongbin, but Hongbin hasn’t bothered to look over. 'I think I want to buy it, but I won’t if you don’t like it.’

Hongbin turns then; tired eyes blinking slowly. He stares at the page for only a second before muttering, 'It’s cute. Get it.’ Then promptly flops back over.

'Are you upset?’

'Yes.’

'Can I get you something?’

'No.’

Taekwoon stares at the back of Hongbin’s head, is tempted to continue looking at the magazine, but knows this will only put Hongbin in a fouler mood. So he places the magazine on the floor, and slowly crawls across the bed to lie behind him with his arm draped over Hongbin’s waist.

'You can tell me,’ Taekwoon says carefully, 'if you want to.’

'I don’t want to do anything.’

Taekwoon falls silent, and simply waits, because this is what one does when Hongbin is put into one of his moods. And eventually, though it’s a long time later, Hongbin whispers quietly, 'Do you like working for me, Taekwoonie?’

'Of course.’

'Do you think I’m a bad boss?’

'No.’ He presses the bridge of his nose to the nape of Hongbin’s neck, breathes him in deeply. 'Why do you ask?’

'One of my men quit today. He called me an asshole, and said he couldn’t work for me anymore.’ There’s a hollow sound like a laugh spilling from the back of his mouth, but if Taekwoon could see his face he imagines there would only be a scowl there. 'Am I…’ and there’s something oddly child-like about the way Hongbin’s voice drops to a whisper as if he’s afraid of what Taekwoon will say. 'Am I an asshole?’

'Ah,’ faltering; Taekwoon braces himself for whatever Hongbin might throw at him. When nothing happens, he continues slowly: 'You treat me… a lot better than you do anyone else.’

'That’s 'cause it’s different.’

'Yes. Well, in that case, maybe you are… a tiny bit of an asshole.’

Gently; his tone causes Taekwoon’s stomach to flutter: 'Do you really think that, hyung?’ and he turns in Taekwoon’s arms, with his forehead now leaned to the side of Taekwoon’s face.

'Maybe… your patience is just, a little low.’

Hongbin snorts out a laugh, says, 'If they weren’t all idiots then I wouldn’t have a problem.’ Taekwoon, strapped for an adequate response, lies quietly as Hongbin cuddles closer with his palm pressed flat to Taekwoon’s stomach. He whispers, quite suddenly, 'Taekwoonie, are you a virgin?’

Taekwoon’s brow furrows. He tightens his grip around Hongbin’s middle as Hongbin, ceaselessly touching lower on Taekwoon’s hips, comes impossibly closer.

'I don’t know,’ Taekwoon says.

'Has anyone ever been inside you?’ It’s the breathless way Hongbin says this that has Taekwoon’s heart crawling up his throat, blood flooding into his face; he’s watching Hongbin’s hand as it dips into the front of Taekwoon’s pants.

'No,’ Taekwoon tells him.

'And you’ve never been inside anyone.’ Not a question, simply a statement. His fingers linger low between Taekwoon’s legs, tips brushing teasingly over his perineum—one of the only places that can wield a moan out of him.

'Well, I've—’ he ignores Hongbin’s glaring wide eyes; it’s as if he’s daring Taekwoon to tell him he’s actually fucked someone— 'used things before. If that.. counts.’

'Things.’

'Toys?’

Slight catch in Hongbin’s breathing; the sharp bone in his throat bobs noticeably as he swallows. 'You’ve fucked yourself before? With what, a vibrator?’

Taekwoon nods hesitantly, suddenly embarrassed. It’s been years since he’s used anything on himself, had done it simply to experience what it was. He imagines it feels better for other people, as he hadn’t felt very much at all. But he lets Hongbin revel in his own fantasy of what it must have been like, takes Hongbin’s hand out of his pants so he can shift closer and tiptoe his own fingers along the inside of Hongbin’s thighs.

'I didn’t like it very much,’ Taekwoon says softly. 'But it felt nice in certain places.’

Breathlessly, Hongbin demands, 'Where? Show me.’ He’s already unbuckling the front of his slacks, pushing them down his cold legs. Taekwoon, one arm pinned under Hongbin’s back, uses his free hand to help him.

Then: curling his fingers into Hongbin’s upper thigh—hard. Red marks already fading from paled skin; Taekwoon urges Hongbin to spread his legs, touches the taut skin and muscle of his inner thigh. All he has to do is move his finger half an inch forward and he’ll feel the growing wet spot on the front of Hongbin’s briefs.

'Here,’ he says softly and traces Hongbin’s thigh incredibly close to his pantie line. 'And here,’ his fingers slip into the side of Hongbin’s underwear, linger at the base of his cock, now hard and warm in Taekwoon’s hand. 'It felt really good here,’ fingers moving lower, lower; pressing hard into his perineum (this causes Hongbin’s legs to spasm dramatically, all his muscles hard and fluttering).

Taekwoon hums appreciatively, 'Why are you already so wet, Bin-ah? I haven’t really touched you yet..’

Hongbin shakes his head, silent way of saying he doesn’t know, and with his cheeks burning bright pink, he pulls Taekwoon close between his legs. 'I wanna try something,’ he whispers. 'Give me your tie.’

He tells Taekwoon how to secure it properly around his wrists; how, if he does it the right way, Hongbin won’t be able to squirm out of it.

'You’re… sure this is what you want?’ Taekwoon asks slowly, a little alarmed. He’s already knotted the tie about Hongbin’s wrists, has him now tied to the headboard with his knees propped beneath himself. He’s still wearing his briefs but his shirt is somewhere balled up on the floor, his suit coat in the bathroom so it won’t become wrinkled.

'Don’t be a shy boy,’ Hongbin jeers softly. He pushes his hips out, small of his back dipped low toward the bed. Every knob in his vertebrae stands sharp under his skin, hips narrow and small, not feeling the least bit sturdy in Taekwoon’s hands.

’ _Boy_ ,’ Taekwoon scoffs. 'Yeah, alright.’

'Taekwoonie.’

Taekwoon’s barely worked his fingers into the waistband of Hongbin’s briefs, is pulling them slowly down to rest in the middle of his thighs. He mutters a rough, 'Yeah?’ as he places a kiss to the base of Hongbin’s spine.

'Eat me.’

Heart like an anvil free falling into his stomach; Taekwoon’s breath hitches, his eyes screw shut. He’s already sweating, but he won’t tell Hongbin that; wipes his palms on the front of his slacks before placing them back on Hongbin’s body. And spreading Hongbin open, he tentatively puts the tip of his tongue to Hongbin’s rim. He pushes his tongue inside, feels Hongbin cant his hips back, grinding against Taekwoon’s face.

'Hyung—’ Thighs quivering, Hongbin groans into the back of his arms as Taekwoon flattens his tongue, licks boldly against his rim. He tries this once more, a slow deliberate roll of his tongue, pushing the tip inside him and feeling Hongbin’s whole body jolt. Then: quickening his pace, Taekwoon flutters his tongue rapidly, buries his face hard into Hongbin’s body; and drowning beneath waves of Hongbin’s low cries, the masculine scent of sweating skin; Taekwoon grips Hongbin’s thighs painfully tight between trembling fingers.

Hongbin’s breathing air through clenched teeth, and the blades of his shoulders stick out incredibly sharp, all of him: taut and sweating. His legs slide further apart, spreading themselves open on the dampening coverlet. He’s moaning Taekwoon’s name in a tone so low, deeply broken, that Taekwoon, who’s been able to keep his own excitement at bay, feels with shuddering sharpness the front of his underwear become soaking wet.

He cries out with his face still pressed hard into Hongbin’s body; his hands fall away from Hongbin’s thighs. He touches himself between his legs, hand in his underwear, fingers sticky with come that’s still warm.

'What’s wrong?’ Hongbin whimpers, though Taekwoon’s sure he doesn’t mean to sound this way.

'I came.’

'You, what?’

'I—’ He’s staring at his wet fingers. It isn’t the first time he’s been able to come, and though it doesn’t happen often it isn’t much of a surprise. What’s shocking him is how quickly it’d happened, how it still feels like he could come again.

He touches his cock, still soft but now wet, and pulls back fingers damp and shining, a mess of come dripping onto his palm. And waiting only a beat, Taekwoon presses these same fingers to Hongbin’s rim, and watches as Hongbin’s spine straightens, how his arms—straining under his weight—flex and quiver.

His fingers slide in easily; two, then three. All pushed to the third knuckle as Hongbin, gasping harshly, meets every thrust of Taekwoon’s hand. He’s grinding against Taekwoon’s fingers, fucking them with his rim tight around them; and he’s muttering Taekwoon’s name, whining so devastatingly high pitched Taekwoon can’t feel his face.

Then: a sound like a sob. Hongbin falls forward on the bed, flush against the sheets; he’s riding his cock against the bed spread and trying to push Taekwoon’s fingers deeper all at the same time. He’s irked, Taekwoon can tell: a hitch in his breath and the sound of real tears—frustrated ones.

Taekwoon presses his crotch, slacks damp with the mess in his underwear, to the curve of Hongbin’s ass. He’s still fucking him with his fingers, slow roll of his hips so Hongbin can pretend it’s Taekwoon’s cock and not his hand inside him. But even this doesn’t calm Hongbin down; it somehow makes it worse. He’s whining loudly with his face in the pillows, trembling with cold shivers when Taekwoon kisses his shoulders.

'I want your cock,’ he cries brokenly. 'Please, Taekwoon—’ but there’s nothing to be done about this. Both of them know. So Hongbin lets Taekwoon keep fucking him with his fingers, cock pinned hard between his body and the bed. He gasps quietly, deeply, a warning that he’s close; and it’s just as his mouth opens that Taekwoon leans down and licks the shell of his ear.

He whispers—fingers hooked at an angle and prodding hard inside Hongbin, 'I’ll buy you a toy, okay? Tomorrow.’ Hongbin nods vigorously at that. 'A really thick one—’ he slams his hips forward; Hongbin cries out— 'and I’ll fuck you with it every night.’

There’s spit on Hongbin’s chin, his hair messy and frayed over his eyes. He doesn’t look up at Taekwoon when Taekwoon puts his wet fingers to his lower lip, but when Taekwoon whispers to him, 'I came on myself,’ Hongbin’s eyes flutter open.

He licks the tips of Taekwoon’s fingers, tastes the come there, and moans deeply in his chest. He allows Taekwoon to push his fingers past his teeth, to run them over his tongue; and it’s as he wraps his lips around them that Taekwoon moves the fingers still inside Hongbin, and watches as he shudders uncontrollably against the bed.

He comes with his mouth full and his voice muffled; his eyes are tightly shut and his face flushed a deep red. 'Fuck,’ he mutters a moment later.

'Was that too much?’ Taekwoon’s sat with his legs crossed, one hand soothingly running up Hongbin’s spine. There’s sweat all over his back, body still twitching with the force of his orgasm. He leans in and kisses Hongbin’s shoulder.

'Untie me,’ is all Hongbin says.

And when Taekwoon’s finished with that, when his tie is smoothed out on the bedside table, he takes Hongbin into his arms and nuzzles his neck, bites him gently.

'I need to sleep,’ Hongbin says. 'There’s that meeting tomorrow.’ He looks over Taekwoon’s shoulder to the alarm clock, sighs heavily.

'Come lie on the couch,’ Taekwoon tells him. 'I need to do laundry first.’ And it’s after Hongbin’s changed into a new pair of briefs, a long sweater hanging loosely from his shoulders, and Taekwoon, in a pair of dark grey sweatpants and a plain white T, that Hongbin curls into himself on the wide, wrap around sofa in the downstairs lounge.

He’s blindly watching television as Taekwoon puts the bedding in the wash; a glass of scotch held loosely in his left hand. There’s drops of liquor on the black tile floor; Taekwoon cleans it up without a word.

'Do you really think I’m an asshole, hyung?’

'No, Bin-ah,’ he touches Hongbin’s hair. 'I was only playing.’ He’s in the kitchen wringing out the washcloth he’d used to clean the floor when he hears Hongbin say, 'Well,  _I_  think I’m an asshole.’

 

 

 

 **He’s reminded too much of Wonsik**  as he’s sat at the bar with his shoulder pressed tightly to Hongbin’s own. They’ve been here an hour already, and the glass in Hongbin’s hand has just been filled up for the fourth time. Whiskey. It smells awful.

There had been a blow out between Hongbin and the Representative, something about the man who’d quit the week before, something about Hongbin’s inability to lead. He’d called Hongbin pompous, a brat; and though Hongbin had been working beneath his father for close to five years, the Representative had said he should have never given Hongbin so much responsibility, so soon.

'He’s a fuck,’ Hongbin whispers into his cup. He’s said this four times already. Swallowing the last of his liquor, Hongbin turns to Taekwoon, asks him, 'Why do you look so pissed off?’

'I’m not.’

'Your hands.’

There’s a mess of torn apart napkins in front of Taekwoon; little bits of paper blown lazily over the bar top. The ceiling fan isn’t strong enough to blow the pieces to the floor, but they’re scattering all the same; and between his fingers now: a fresh napkin he’s just started to shred.

He doesn’t bother to answer Hongbin’s question, thinks maybe it answers itself, and asks him instead: 'Are you just about finished?’

'Do I look finished?’ The bartender refills his glass.

Taekwoon bows his head, closes his eyes. He thinks of the driver waiting outside, who’d been waiting all this time; Taekwoon had told him they’d only be a minute, and guilt like cold water fills him to the brim.

'I think,’ he starts carefully, 'you’re done.’ He lightly grips Hongbin’s upper arm to steady him—he’s been swaying in his seat for five minutes now—and pulling him close into his side, Taekwoon tells him to close his eyes. 'If you feel nauseous, then I think it’s time we go home.’

Hongbin’s reaction is immediate: boneless dead weight falling into Taekwoon’s side. With his eyes closed he has no understanding of balance; he sinks face first into Taekwoon’s chest.

'You don’t have to drink that,’ Taekwoon says when Hongbin, struggling, sits back in his own seat. 'You can have another drink back at the house.’

'You’re such a… dad.’ Hongbin spits this out with a scoff between his words, glares, unfocused. 'I already have a father, you know. I don’t need another one.’

'I’m simply taking care of you, sir.’

Here: the glass rattles. Hongbin drops it on the bar top with a harsh thud, eyebrows knitted close together. 'I told you to stop calling me that.’

'One of us,’ Taekwoon says hastily, 'has to act professional tonight. Sir.’ He doesn’t exactly regret saying this, but there’s an air of hostility forming like a typhoon between them, and Hongbin won’t look away, won’t break eye contact; and Taekwoon’s afraid if he’s the one to break it, Hongbin might say something they’d both regret.

So: they stare at one another; Hongbin with his glass resting against his lower lip, sipping loudly, and Taekwoon: fingers fretting, tearing apart bar napkins like a nervous tick.

'I have to piss,’ Hongbin says; and rising from his chair his eyes finally fall away. But the anger is still there. Taekwoon feels it when he touches Hongbin’s shoulder and Hongbin, scoffing, pushes his hand away. 'I can piss by myself.’

'I can’t let you go to the bathroom alone. You.. know that.’

'Just, stay here,’ and he tries to leave, but Taekwoon’s there: on the heels of his feet, and he’s lingering so close with his hand only a few inches away from the small of Hongbin’s back. He’s too nervous to touch him. Hongbin must sense it.

'It’s an order,’ Hongbin tells him drunkenly. 'You have to stay put.’ And still: Taekwoon’s following him like a shadow, fingertips brushing the back of Hongbin’s suit coat. He must give up, because he doesn’t turn back around, doesn’t tell Taekwoon to fuck off; and in the bathroom he allows Taekwoon to unbuckle, unzip his pants. He asks, 'Are you gonna piss for me too?’ but he says this only partly unkind. There’s the warm undertone somewhere between his words that Taekwoon can hear, and he clings to this almost desperately, touches Hongbin’s cheek.

'When you’re done, can we leave?’

Hongbin waves him off, leans over the urinal. He’s just about finished when he says, 'It isn’t like you’re giving me an option, huh?’ He can’t even wash his hands by himself.

They’re waiting for the car when Hongbin shoves Taekwoon away from him. Hands placed firmly on Taekwoon’s chest, he says, 'You stand too close,’ but instead of pushing Taekwoon back, Hongbin ends up stumbling off the curb and it’s a split second between the time that a car—moving too quickly on such a cluttered street—blares it’s horn and Hongbin, toppling over, nearly falls into its bumper. Taekwoon has his arms around him immediately, yanking Hongbin to his chest.

Taekwoon’s heart is racing, there’s sweat on his nape; fear and anger flare like flames inside his stomach, and his hands, shaking, are clutching the back of Hongbin’s suit so tightly there’s the sound of stretched fabric; the seams of his coat pull taut.

'Damn you,’ Taekwoon mutters.

'Sorry,’ and he almost sounds like he really is.

 

 

 

 **It’s nearing four in the morning**  and Taekwoon hasn’t slept. He’s sat in the armchair with his knees pulled to his chest and his eyes, though heavy, hardly leave Hongbin’s sleeping frame. He has a book, and his reading light, but his mind can’t focus. He keeps thinking of the car, and Hongbin’s blank face; how—if he’d taken a moment longer to reach for Hongbin—he’d have been hit. The anger is gone, but the fear is still there; anxiety swarming like bees at the back of his head.

 _'Why do you do these things?’ he’d asked in the car,_ but there hadn’t been an answer. Hongbin, it seemed, had already forgotten anything happened at all.

He stirs now, had been falling between sleep and wakefulness for the last twenty minutes, and finally able to pull himself from his drunken stupor, Hongbin lifts his hand lazily from his side, arm outstretch as if waiting for something.

'Taekwoonie, come here.’

So Taekwoon comes, and sits on the side of the bed. He’s about to curl up behind Hongbin when Hongbin, eyes still closed, turns on his back. He says, 'No, not there.’

'Where?’

'On top of me.’

Taekwoon sighs; and crawls between Hongbin’s legs. He props himself up with his elbows, body flush to Hongbin’s own, and looking down at him, he says, 'Do you feel any better now?’

Hongbin doesn’t give him an answer, instead asks, 'Are you upset with me?’ His eyes open and they’re glossy with sleep, a little dazed as if he stared at the sun for too long.

'Yes,’ Taekwoon tells him.

'I’m sorry.’ This time, it sounds real. He cups the back of Taekwoon’s head and pulls him down to kiss him; and it’s always a start when Hongbin presses his mouth to Taekwoon’s own, because he hardly ever does it, likes to be kissed rather than do the kissing. And his mouth tastes like stale cigarettes but Taekwoon hardly notices, thinks: he probably tastes the same.

'I don’t mean to be difficult,’ he says with his lips still hard against Taekwoon’s mouth. He kisses him with his tongue pressed to Taekwoon’s lower lip. 'Don’t be upset with me, hyung-nim.’

Taekwoon sighs again for a completely new reason. Head low between his shoulders, he says, 'It’s my job to protect you.’ Faltering lightly, 'I— shouldn’t be upset anyway.’

Hongbin stares up at him like he doesn’t quite believe this, but blinks; and the moment is gone. He pushes his hands up the back of Taekwoon’s shirt, and angles his hips closer to Taekwoon’s own. He whispers, 'Don’t move, hyung.’

Taekwoon puts his face in the crook of Hongbin’s neck, elbows still holding him up; and pressing his crotch hard between Hongbin’s legs, he lies still.

Hongbin’s thighs are shaking before he starts to move, but it could be from exhaustion—Taekwoon isn’t sure, he doesn’t really care either way, because Hongbin rolls his hips, grinding himself to Taekwoon’s body. His feet are flat on the bed, the only balance he can find, and with his fingers—dull, neatly manicured—digging deep into the skin of Taekwoon’s lower back, he rocks his hips steadily upward.

A thin pair of sweatpants his only barrier, Hongbin’s cock feels heavy and wet through the front of his pajama pants. It digs hard into Taekwoon’s stomach, his own hips bearing down, slow roll; he only does this to see what Hongbin will do, and is granted with the sharp pain of Hongbin’s teeth biting into his shoulder.

Hongbin is warm and trembling beneath him; heart beating wildly, so easily felt through a shirt so thin. His palms are starting to sweat, sticky and hot against the bare skin of Taekwoon’s back; and his hands are flat as if holding Taekwoon against him, or using him for balance—it doesn’t matter; his hips keep grinding, cock only growing harder, the front of his pants: sticky and wet.

Taekwoon feels heat pooling the pit of his stomach. He wants to ask Hongbin if he can suck him off, let him come in his mouth, but Hongbin’s head is tipped back and he’s sighing gently, broken little bits of voice seeping out between low moans. He’s telling Taekwoon it feels good, that his body’s on fire, to come closer, press himself harder against him. So Taekwoon does. He wraps his arms around Hongbin’s shoulders and flattens his body on him; and Hongbin’s cock presses more into his stomach, rubbing tightly between them.

'Taekwoonie…’

Taekwoon grinds down, feels Hongbin shudder.

'Again, hyung.’ His legs wrap around the back of Taekwoon’s thighs, ankles crossed together. And gripping Taekwoon, Hongbin rides his cock hard against him. His breath comes in shorter, sharper, gasps; sweat all over and his whole body shaking.

Taekwoon hates the sounds that fall from his own mouth: strangled moans, much higher than his voice; and his arms are starting to ache. Knees propped up beneath him now, he thrusts his hips forward—hard, does it again and again, until Hongbin’s whining so loud it makes his head spin.

Hongbin comes in his pants with a weak cry, thighs quivering in gentle spasms. And as quickly as he’d clung to him, Hongbin lets Taekwoon go. All of him: weak and boneless and lying as if he’d exhausted himself.

He’s already turned his head to the side, eyes closed again. His breathing is even; and Taekwoon, laughing quietly, shakes his shoulder. 'You can’t sleep. You’re filthy.’

Hongbin acknowledges this with a simple nod, eyes rolling shut. He doesn’t seem to care, but Taekwoon won’t let him sleep like this. So: to the bathroom to run a bath, Taekwoon adds the cherry blossom oil Hongbin likes so much. He lays a pile of towels beside the tub’s edge where he’ll be kneeling for the next fifteen minutes washing Hongbin’s hair, his body.

It’s surprisingly easy to get Hongbin out of his clothes. Sticky underwear and dirty sweats; Taekwoon drops the clothes into the hamper, then drops Hongbin into the bath. He cleans Hongbin’s legs, his intimate spots; he wets Hongbin’s hair, and lathers him with shampoo, conditioner; and all the while Hongbin leans his tired head to Taekwoon’s chin, and lingers there in a state of dreaming.

His legs are smooth under Taekwoon’s palms; faintly red in the places Taekwoon rubbed him with the washcloth. He kisses Hongbin’s temple, and asks if he’s ready for bed now. But Hongbin shakes his head, and pulls at Taekwoon’s shirt.

He says, 'Come here please.’

'I’m already here.’

'No,’ and he scoots away from the edge of the tub, makes room for Taekwoon to get in. 'Here.’

He isn’t sure why he does it—it could be the guilt in Hongbin’s eyes as if he’s only now realizing how out of line he’d been earlier; or the way his lower lip trembles like there’s something he wants to say, but is afraid to say it—but Taekwoon, still wearing his shirtsleeves, crawls into the tub behind Hongbin, and holds his bare body close.

His pants are soaked, but his shirt is dry save for the front of his chest where Hongbin lies against him; and holding one side of Hongbin’s face, Taekwoon runs the flat of his palm over Hongbin’s chest, feels his heart still fluttering hard.

'My Bin-ah,’ he whispers into Hongbin’s wet hair. 'Please don’t be so reckless.’

Hongbin tips his head back, tip of his nose brushing the underside of Taekwoon’s chin. He says, 'I’ll try not to be.’

 

 

 

 **In a fit of rage**  he’d shattered the cologne bottles set carefully along the bathroom counter; thrown them on the floor in a mess of fragrance that Taekwoon is sure will never really go away. He’d picked up all the bits of glass and thrown them out, had put Hongbin in bed and told him to sleep, he needed sleep; the circles beneath his eyes were dark as bruises, hollowed cheeks and all of him: haggard. He’d gotten out of bed ten minutes later and stepped into his shoes; and left without telling Taekwoon where he was going. Now: beneath a fine drizzle of rain, Taekwoon follows Hongbin through winding sidewalks lined with limousines. His suit coat heavy and damp on shoulders that feel weak under an invisible weight.

The driver follows clandestinely through side streets too narrow to drive comfortably in; and Taekwoon is grateful for this, happy he’d asked the driver to follow them at all.

He can still hear the pained shouts from that morning: a meeting called by the Representative to evaluate Hongbin’s work ethics, and though Taekwoon has yet to be told what had really happened in there, it isn’t difficult to fit the pieces together. A father burdened by his son’s lack of charisma, of leadership skills, telling him maybe it’d be better to find a different line of work, to not take everything in all at once. Taekwoon had heard this part, something about running paperwork, taking care of the construction sites of future properties rather than trying to make deals with other companies, because what Hongbin lacked was proper social skills. Why else, the Representative had said, would two men quit in six months when none had quit at all before Hongbin took over.

So it’s understandable, Taekwoon thinks, that Hongbin now walks with his head low between his shoulders. That the hair at the top of his head is matted down with the falling rain; his dry clean only suit soaked through. He’s wearing leather shoes and standing in a puddle and Taekwoon only wants to put his arms around him, tell him he’s worth more than a company he never wanted to run in the first place. But he doesn’t, because Hongbin wouldn’t believe him anyway.

It’s three blocks later (the driver is stalled at a red light, but Taekwoon can still see the glaring blue headlights) that Hongbin stops by the side of the road. He’s ignoring the crosswalk and the flashing green sign that tells him it’s okay to cross. Simply standing there and letting the rain collect in the upturned collar of his button-up; labels drenched to a deep, brackish color rather than the nice, navy blue they’d been only hours before. He stands there, and he waits; and when Taekwoon rests his forehead to the nape of his neck, Hongbin mutters, 'I hate this.’

Taekwoon tells him he doesn’t have to.

Turning to glare from the corner of his eye, Hongbin demands, 'What does that mean?’

'You don’t have to work for your father.’

'I went to business school,’ Hongbin bites out. 'To work in  _business_ , and I can’t even do that successfully.’ He sighs deeply, whole body seeming to deflate; and with his shoulders rounded, his chest concave, he looks so much smaller; breakable. Taekwoon touches Hongbin’s shoulder timidly.

'What am I gonna do?’ he whines. 'Hyung, what am I gonna  _do_?’

Taekwoon, straight faced and hoping for a smile, mumbles, 'Join the mafia,’ and he doesn’t crack a grin; not even when Hongbin, first glowering at him, suddenly turns serious like he’s really debating whether this would be a good idea or not. Then he smiles, tiny upturn at the edges of his mouth, and he laughs an airy little laugh that makes Taekwoon’s heart flutter.

'You’re an idiot,’ Hongbin tells him, but he’s leaning his forehead to Taekwoon’s cheek, and curling himself into Taekwoon’s side, shivering lightly. He doesn’t have to say for Taekwoon to know: he wants to be kept warm.

 

 

 

 **The pill is stark** , almost vibrant, against the white of his palm; and he’s sweating with nerves wound tightly in his stomach. He thinks: if the pill doesn’t work, at least he’ll be the only one burdened by it. Hongbin won’t ever have to know.

Mineral water in a glass cup and ice rattling sharp against the rim as he swallows both the pill and a mouthful of water. Then into the bedroom where Hongbin lies in bed, has been lying there for two days. He’ll only eat if Taekwoon feeds him; only bathes when Taekwoon draws a bath for him, like he had that morning.

'Do you feel alright?’ Taekwoon asks carefully. Hongbin’s turned away from him with the blankets pulled over his head, wrapped tightly in a cocoon of cotton with his bare toes peeking from the bottom.

'Fine,’ he mumbles.

'Would you like to watch a movie?’ and already Taekwoon’s across the room, by the flat screen mounted on the wall; and he has a DVD of Nightcrawler open, disc in hand. But Hongbin tells him no, he doesn’t want to watch a movie, that his headache is bad right now and he doesn’t think he can keep his eyes open.

'Do you want a drink?’ Taekwoon asks.

Hongbin, peeking over the top of the blanket, says: 'It’s three in the afternoon.’ Then, softer, 'Sure.’

It’s a J&B mixed with coke; bubbles crawling up the inside of the glass. Hongbin drinks it in three mouthfuls and asks Taekwoon to give him another, but Taekwoon’s hesitant. He doesn’t want Hongbin drunk, only relaxed. So he says, 'Maybe in a little bit,’ and pretends not to notice the glare Hongbin gives him.

And sat in the armchair with his hand hovering over the stack of books he keeps beneath Hongbin’s bed, Taekwoon asks him, 'Would you… like me to read to you? It’s been a while.’

The smile Hongbin gives him is a faint one, but it’s there; and that’s enough. 'The poetry book?’

'Yeah.’

Curled up in his blankets, Hongbin tells him it’d be nice; to read three poems instead of one this time, but Taekwoon doesn’t like to rush through poetry, thinks it’s nicer to have a poem a day rather than four or five. He tells Hongbin he’ll read a long one, draw it out.

They chain-smoke cigarettes until the room is filled with smoke and Taekwoon has to open the window. Then he’s sat with his knees to his chest and Anne Sexton’s poetry collection in his hands. He reads the one about her lost child, about portraits being hung; and he thinks, midway through, he should have picked one about broken hearts instead of parents unable to care for their children, because Hongbin’s staring at his hands and he’s trying to look unaffected but it’s there, in his eyes: somber little glare like maybe he’s killing himself in his mind.

Taekwoon keeps reading, keeps one eye on Hongbin and his fretting fingers; and is almost completely unaware of the way he feels between his legs. Maybe if he wasn’t sitting so curled in on himself he wouldn’t notice at all, but he feels it: slow flow of blood, and a gentle pulsing. His stomach ties in knots, but he thinks that’s his own fault; the bottle had said it wasn’t an aphrodisiac.

It’s hard to concentrate after this.

He sets the book down and tries to crawl from the chair to the bed without drawing much attention, but it’s the moment he stops speaking that Hongbin sits up, and asks, 'something wrong, hyung?’

'No. Something wrong with you?’

'No.’

'Still have that headache?’

'A little, yeah.’

Taekwoon nods, but it’s mostly to himself, and thinks he could have picked a better time to do this. Hongbin’s pale, and his eyes are a little hollow; deep circles like discolored bruises beneath both his eyes. And yet: he still looks beautiful; long legs bare and slim; he’s wearing the cardigan again with only his underwear underneath.

Taekwoon’s heart leaps, his stomach twists; he’s trying not to shake as he curls up behind Hongbin and puts an arm around him. He makes sure to put space between their lower bodies, wants to wait just a moment. And he kisses Hongbin’s neck and hears him giggle; licks at the spot behind his ear and here: Hongbin, moaning softly, twists his fingers with Taekwoon’s own, and holds him close. He asks him, 'Taekwoonie, why are you shaking so much?’

'I—’ He shifts a little and the inside of his underwear rubs against his cock, and though it’s not much it’s enough that he feels the inside of his pants get wet. 'I took a pill.’

Hongbin’s quiet for a long time. 'What kind of pill?’ and the skepticism in his voice makes Taekwoon wonder if Hongbin thinks he’s high or something. The thought makes him smile.

'It’s supposed to fix… it.’

’…fix what?’

Taekwoon presses his crotch flush to Hongbin’s thigh, pulls him closer so he can grind weakly against the curve of his ass; and it’s ridiculous how wet his pants are now. His cock, hard for the first time; it’s dizzying the amount of pleasure such a small motion can cause.

Hongbin stiffens immediately, elbows Taekwoon away; and he’s staring at him so bewildered it’s almost cute—would be cute, if Taekwoon didn’t feel so nervous.

'A pill?’ Hongbin whispers; voice already breaking. His hands shake when they pull the blankets off Taekwoon’s body, are shaking worse when he touches, very timidly, to front of Taekwoon’s pants. He moans quietly. 'A pill did this?’

Taekwoon can only nod, lower lip between his teeth and a flush high on his cheeks. His hips roll against the palm of Hongbin’s hand, unable to really stop himself from doing it.

'Oh,’ and Hongbin’s whining softly. 'Hyung.’

'Careful,’ Taekwoon tells him when Hongbin starts unbuckling his pants. They’re already halfway down his thighs before Hongbin realizes he’s said anything.

'Does it hurt?’

'No. It’s just— it’s sensitive.’

Hongbin smiles warmly. 'That’s normal.’

What little composure Hongbin had is shattered instantly when he puts his hand down the front of Taekwoon’s underwear. He groans loudly with his head hung between his shoulders. 'You’re so  _wet_.’ He takes Taekwoon’s cock into his hand, soft hand, nimble fingers; his touch is gentle as if afraid of breaking him.

And Taekwoon: thighs burning, immediately soaked with precome as soon as Hongbin pulls his underwear off. He’s hovering over Taekwoon like he has no idea what to do. Then, whining, Hongbin’s out of bed and he’s hastily throwing his cardigan off; trying to step out of his briefs. Taekwoon tells him, 'No, I wanna take them off for you,’ but Hongbin tells him to be quiet, it doesn’t matter, he’s taken Hongbin’s underwear off hundreds of times.

Taekwoon can only roll his eyes, lie still.

Hongbin coats Taekwoon’s fingers with the lotion they keep in the bedside table, and he demands for Taekwoon to put them inside him, to make him wet, but he’s grinding so hard against Taekwoon’s body that it’s impossible to get any leverage.

'You have to hold… still,’ but Hongbin isn’t listening to him. Not that Taekwoon really blames him. He has a hand around Taekwoon’s cock, other hand around his own; and with a weak gasp he presses them together, rides Taekwoon this way: with his hands wrapped tightly about the both of them.

The impulse to come is heavy in Taekwoon’s stomach; he wonders if he comes, would he stay hard? or would the pill wear off like a normal erection? These are things he doesn’t want to find out right now—the pill packet had said to give his body 24 hours before taking another—and the last thing he wants is to waste it on a hand job. So he pushes Hongbin’s hands away, tells him, 'Let me touch you.’

Hongbin isn’t patient as he waits for Taekwoon to work all three fingers into his body, but he obeys anyway; a knee propped on either side of Taekwoon’s hips, his thighs vibrate hard under his weight.

'That’s enough—’ He grabs either of Taekwoon’s hands, pushes them so they lie above Taekwoon’s head. 'Keep them there.’ Then he’s taking Taekwoon’s cock and aligning it to his rim, shuddering breath like he can’t breathe.

Taekwoon tries to keep his eyes open as the first wave of heat pulses over him, but it’s hard. Dizzy and blurry eyed, he lets his eyes roll shut as Hongbin, tight and wet and almost painfully hot, tries to sink down onto him, but he can’t. He’s too nervous, shaking too hard. He grabs the front of Taekwoon’s shirt and yanks him up by it, forces him to sit upright as Hongbin straddles him.

'Help me,’ he whines.

'Bin-ah.’ Taekwoon’s never felt so lost. 'I— I don’t really know what I’m doing.’

Hongbin falls onto his back, pulls Taekwoon on top of him. His legs are spread as far as they’ll go, hips canted up; and with his hands on the small of Taekwoon’s back, he tells him, 'put the tip in. Just— just the tip, though. Like—’ and sighing, his thighs trembling— 'like that.’

Taekwoon isn’t aware he’s holding his breath until his lungs start to ache, and his vision—a little fuzzy—begins to darken. He has to stop, breathe a little; hand around the base of his cock he slowly slips into Hongbin’s body, slips out; does this again until the tip of his cock is used to the warmth.

Hongbin breathes a soft, 'fuck,’ and it’s now Taekwoon looks up at him, sees Hongbin’s watching his cock slip into him. His cheeks are ruddy, veins in his arms harsh beneath his skin. He’s shaking so much Taekwoon wants to cradle him to his chest.

'You’re okay, Hongbinnie?’

Hongbin’s answer is his head thrown back, jaw and neck and all his angles exposed, sharp; tempting Taekwoon to bite him. 'Fuck me now.’ He wraps his legs around Taekwoon’s back, pulls him closer. And as Taekwoon slips into him, Hongbin, moaning loudly—louder than Taekwoon can remember hearing him before—clutches hard at the back of Taekwoon’s shirt.

He whispers, a little hoarse, gasping between his words: 'Taekwoonie— hyung, your cock’s inside me..’ Taekwoon has to bite his mouth shut to stop from moaning. 'Do I feel good?’

Pained, 'Y-yeah, Bin-ah—’ surprised he can speak at all. He rolls his hips up, sharp press of his body to Hongbin’s own; and his entire cock’s inside him, hot and wet, sending tingles up his spine.

’ _Shit—_ ’ Hongbin shoves him away. 'I can't—’ He’s gripping the base of his cock hard, eyes scrunched shut. 'Get on your back,’ but he pushes Taekwoon down before Taekwoon can even move. Heavy hands on his shoulders, Hongbin pins him to the bed, crawls on top of him. And with a leg on either side of Taekwoon’s hips, he’s able to take his cock this time; sinking slowly down on him with his head tipped back and his chest heaving.

He tells Taekwoon, 'Hold my hips,’ and as soon as Taekwoon, cold sweat on both his palms, curls his fingers weakly into the sharp jut of Hongbin’s hip bones, Hongbin grinds down hard with Taekwoon’s cock inside him.

Taekwoon braces his feet on the bed, feeling intimidated, a little overwhelmed, as Hongbin leans over top him and grabs hold of the headboard. Gentle roll of his hips like a small wave, Taekwoon breathes deeply through his nose. Then Hongbin does it again, and it’s harder this time, faster; again, with more speed, until he’s riding Taekwoon hard with the backs of his thighs slick with sweat.

The bed creaks loudly, headboard beating against the wall; and Hongbin, panting heavily with his hair wet on his forehead and his head low between his raised arms. He’s muttering under his breath how good Taekwoon’s cock feels, how hard it is; heavy inside him and pushing against all the right spots.

Taekwoon’s toes curl painfully against the bed covers; he’s trying to breathe but Hongbin’s fucking him too hard to get even a mouthful of air. Hands no longer holding Hongbin’s hips, but rather gripping him tightly as if afraid if he lets go, Hongbin might lose all balance. He doesn’t even seem aware of how fast he’s moving.

'Hongbin.’

’ _Sh—_  hold… on—’ He arches his back, cock heavy on Taekwoon’s stomach. Mouth open and lips wet with spit; he shivers as Taekwoon pushes his hands up the curve of his spine. Stutter in his hips, rhythm lost; Hongbin whines loudly, and— ’ _Fuck—_ ’

He comes without touching himself, comes with a hoarse moan ringing loudly in their quiet room. Taekwoon feels the warm spurt of Hongbin’s come coat his stomach, the slip of Hongbin’s body as he slowly rises off Taekwoon’s cock only to sink back down; and he’s wet—so fucking wet—Taekwoon leans up, and bites hard at the front of Hongbin’s throat.

It almost hurts when he comes. There’s so much of it; Hongbin drenched in it, spilling on the front of Taekwoon’s own thighs. He comes with a cry and his knuckles white, already fading finger prints left on Hongbin’s waist. He’s acutely aware of Hongbin kissing his face, nuzzling his throat; he’s touching Taekwoon’s hair and whispering encouraging things to him, like: 'that’s it, hyung,’ and 'come for me.’ All the while Taekwoon’s trying to wrap his arms around Hongbin’s middle, but he can’t really move; hips thrusting weakly. He’s spent.

Taekwoon mutters Hongbin’s name, and touches him between his legs. He groans, and sinks two fingers into him. 'Why’s everything so messy?’ he whispers.

The squelching wet sound of too much come, and Taekwoon, angling his fingers until Hongbin, wriggling gently against him, sighs softly. 'That’s your mess,’ he mutters, mouth pressed to Taekwoon’s ear.

Hongbin slides away a second later, lies on his side with his head resting on Taekwoon’s shoulder. He touches Taekwoon’s cock—still hard—and makes a small noise.

'Thank you, Taekwoonie-nim,’ he says softly, mouth hard against the sharp bone of Taekwoon’s shoulder. 'You always take good care of me.’

Slipping an arm under Hongbin’s small frame, Taekwoon pulls him hard into his side, tells him, 'It’s my job to, Bin-ah.’

'Yeah, but.. you know.’

'I know.’

Pause; Hongbin circles a plastic button on the front of Taekwoon’s shirt. 'Will you always take care of me, hyung?’ Taekwoon tells him he will. 'Even if I fire you? Will you still stick around.’

'Why… would you fire me…’

'I’m just saying.’

Taekwoon scoffs, kisses Hongbin’s forehead. 'Yeah. I’ll stick around.’

Hongbin beams, pulls Taekwoon by the front of his shirt; kisses him open mouthed and a little rushed. His hands in Taekwoon’s hair, blunt nails against his scalp; Taekwoon’s skin ripples in gooseflesh.

'Again,’ Hongbin whimpers into his mouth, legs already spreading wide. 'Please.’

They’re much slower this time.


End file.
